Songs of Experience
by AliceBoreas
Summary: Edward and Bella lounge on the couch as he tells her stories of the decades he's lived in. Intro chapter in BPOV, the rest mostly in EPOV.
1. Prologue A Rainy Day

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_I'd always wondered if Bella was curious about all the things Edward has seen and what they talked about when neither of them was in life threatening situations or declaring everlasting love to each other (which we mostly see them doing all the time in the books). This would be my take on one such conversation. Edward recounts his view on some of the key moments of the 20th century he'd witnessed._

_Twilight and all the characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I can only dream, don't own anything._

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**Prologue**

It was raining as usual, as I drove down the muddy driveway leading to the Cullens' house. I scowled at the sight in my rear mirror – my truck was leaving a ridge of mud behind each wheel, and sighed, thinking of Rosalie's face when her convertible sloshed through the mess I've made. She already found ways to torture me as it was, without actually needing a reason to get back at me.

When I finally got the truck safely parked by the entrance, Edward was waiting for me at the stairs. He frowned and I smiled, knowing his objections to my truck were as loud as ever, but he didn't dare voice them. I'd been adamant on that point.

The truck – great; new car, new, unnecessarily crazy expensive sports car – bad.

I barely blinked and he was by the door, opening it gracefully for me and pulling me close under his coat so I wouldn't get wet.

"Mmmm," he sighed, "You smell wonderful in the rain." I blushed, naturally and fumbled with my bag. He took it from me and slung it casually over his shoulder.

"Ready?" he asked. I didn't dare look up, knowing he would see how anxious I was. He may not be able to read my thoughts directly, but he'd become quite an expert on reading my face. Not that it was all that difficult anyways.

Spending a weekend with Edward and his family was, generally, a dream come true, but I was afraid – I wanted to leave a good impression. Sure, they liked me, but would they mind I was human? It was the first time they had a human sleeping under their roof, first time they'd have to deal with such a temptation. I was confident Carlisle would have no problem, and Edward proved his incessant self-control, he already spent almost every night in my room, but I didn't want to cause Esme or anyone else any discomfort by smelling too deliciously under their roof. I'd caused them enough trouble with the whole James incident. I shuddered at the memory and quickly shook my head, trying to clear it of the dread that threatened to overcome me.

I tried feigning enthusiasm instead. "I'm…great." I finished lamely.

I risked a glance at his face. His expression was frustrated, a frown on his marble brow. "Tell me what you're thinking, please, Bella."

"I'm just afraid I'll mess up."

He looked at me, puzzled. "What would you mess up?"

"Well," I began, and the rest came out in a rush. "It's just the first time I'd sleep over at your house and it's kind of awkward. I don't want anyone to feel… inconvenienced because of me being there."

"Anyone being… Rosalie?" He raised an eyebrow.

"She… and everyone else. I'm food, remember? Bella banquet, very handy for a midnight snack."

His expression hardened, clearly not appreciating my attempt at humor. "Is that what you are finally afraid of, sleeping in a house full of vampires?" I could see it in his eyes he was considering leaving again, just like he mentioned he would if I ever came to be in danger from him. He was often distant ever since we came home from Phoenix, as if he always held the thought in the back of his mind that it was forever his fault if I came to harm. I felt a twinge of panic abruptly clutch at my chest, the whole talk of leaving was leaving me breathless. I couldn't imagine being without him. Not now, not anymore. It was too late for going back.

"No! It's not that!" I quickly assured him. I looked up to measure his expression. I could see he still didn't buy it. Stupid, stubborn vampire. "I'm not afraid someone will snack on me." He frowned and I put my finger to his lips to stop him from protesting. "Shh… Listen. I don't what _them_ to have to go through all the extra effort with me being there, so close to them all."

"Wait, let me see if I understood correctly. You're afraid not that a houseful of vampires will… eat" – cringe – "you, but that they would mind having to undergo the effort to control themselves to not eat you?"

"You make it sound more complicated than it really is, Edward."

He sighed. "You're absurd." He stared into my eyes and I stared back, waiting for him to resolve his own issues so life could go on. He was making more of a big deal than it really was. I just didn't want to bother them with my presence. He clearly read too much into it.

"Alright, I suppose I see your point. You're worrying unnecessarily, though. Everyone's gone except Carlisle and Esme. Alice didn't want to put Jasper too much in temptation's way. No need to push our luck."

He smiled then, and kissed the top of my head. I exhaled in a loud puff, relieved only Edward's parents were home. I could do with just the two of them. No Emmett to laugh at me every time I trip, which, klutz that I am, was often enough. No Alice to practice her Barbie-doll Bella obsession on me. No Jasper to mope around awkwardly in an attempt not to kill me. No… Rosalie… to throw hateful glares in my direction. Just me and Edward and a quiet weekend with his parents. I grinned, my prospects suddenly looking much better than five minutes ago.

Edward laughed at the change in my mood. "Ready?"

"Yup. Let's go."

He led me up the stairs and held the door for me, never letting go of my hand.

Inside, we settled on the couch as we waited for Carlisle to return from work. Apparently we had some family bonding activities scheduled for later that evening, whatever that meant. I decided I'd rather not know, though it was relatively safe now, knowing only Carlisle and Esme were involved.

Edward played with my hair absentmindedly, his eyes distant. I panicked he might be thinking of our earlier discussion and the whole prospect of leaving. I struggled to read his expression but it was blank, controlled. He would hum occasionally and sometimes the tune seemed familiar, though I could never quite pinpoint the song before he moved on to something else. "Edward," I whispered. "What's on your mind?"

His eyes turned to me, still unfocused, and he smiled lightly. "I'm just reminiscing."

"About what?"

"How different the world was without you in it." He looked at me then and his lips stretched into my favorite crooked smile. I traced the shape of his lips with my index finger. "Tell me about it," I pleaded. He took my hand and placed my palm against his cheek, leaning into it. His eyes closed and he was silent for a long moment.

"What would you like to know?"

I thought about it for a second. I could barely fathom the years Edward had seen. He was there to witness all the key events of the 20th century. He lived through the World Wars. He watched the launching of the first man in space, the first man on the Moon. He was there in the twenties, thirties, forties, fifties…he saw the world change and become what it was today. Sadness gripped me. What could such a marvelous creature possibly see in me? He was so much above me, in everything. Beautiful, brilliant, experienced. I was a true child compared to him, and so average in every aspect. I felt my eyes tear up and I blinked rapidly. I hoped he wouldn't notice but he still did. "Bella?" he whispered anxiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I mumbled. I hid my face into his chest. "Tell me your favorite moment ever."

I was surprised to feel him chuckle underneath me. "Bella, my favorite moments all happened since I met you."

"That can't be right."

"Oh yes it can. You would not believe how empty my life before you seems now that I have met you and loved you. Now that I know what I didn't have all this time."

I shook my head. "You're crazy, you know that?"

He chuckled again. "Perhaps. Crazy about you, obviously."

"Yup. Definitely dangerously delusional."

His lips gently touched my forehead. "Silly Bella," he sighed. "You'll never listen to me, will you?"

I nodded. "That's right." I decided to change the topic, there was no point discussing the matter. He was too stubborn. "Tell me one event from every decade you've lived in." I looked at him expectantly and smiled to see him sigh in surrender. "I'll start with the twenties then. The gangster era." He grinned wickedly and I grinned in response. This was way better than the history channel – my own kissable encyclopedia. I kissed his jaw and snuggled closer to him, ready to hear the story.


	2. The Rhapsody in Blue

_Ahoy mateys! I certainly do hope someone missed me, while I had a blast in London. Here it is, Edward telling us (and Bella, but she gets to hear it more edited than we do) about one event from the first decade he spent as a vampire, The Roaring Twenties._

_All copyright belongs to Stephenie Meyer, all hail her brilliant majesty._

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Previously:

_This was way better than the history channel – my own kissable encyclopedia. I kissed his jaw and snuggled closer to him, ready to hear the story._

BPOV

_Summer of 2005_

Edward seemed to ponder for a while, with me cradled snugly in his arms.

"You know, a lot of things happened in the twenties… Is there something you'd specifically want to hear about?"

I thought about it for a second. "Well, I don't know… what did you do for fun back then?"

I was surprised to hear him laugh, a curt, bitter sound. I looked up to see him gaze intensely at me. He seemed very amused, yet I thought I saw a trace of regret in his face.

"Bella, honey, it was much too early for me to actually go out and do anything _for fun_ without… you know…the mere smell of all the humans around me…" He looked me squarely in the eye, as if attempting to communicate something vital. I got the message alright, but decided to let the matter drop. I would not be drawn in into another discussion about my immortality or lack of thereof.

I ignored the hint, settling instead for playing dense. "Oh. Right." I said. I controlled my expression as best I could as he held my gaze. After several tense moments he exhaled in a huff and rolled his eyes. I smiled, a small victory won, but a victory nonetheless.

"Alright." he moaned, resigned. "You want to hear about the entertainment."

"No, I want to hear about what _you_ did for entertainment. You know I only want to know everything about you. It's not much to ask." I grinned. No, only a hundred years of life to tell, and he still steadfastly insisted that nothing worth telling happened before we met.

His lips twitched and I knew a smile wasn't far behind. I was soon rewarded with my favorite crooked smile. "The Roaring Twenties, well. My favorite thing about them was jazz."

I smiled, watching his eyes brighten as he went on. "It was everywhere, it was new, it was exciting and it opened my eyes to a completely new view on music. You know, like the phenomenon of synesthesia. You heard the band playing, and every delicate nuance of sound became a flaring light in your mind. The erratic flashing of a trumpet solo was like a string of Christmas lights. The soft tinkle of a rapid piano piece was sunlight captured in a prism. The steady beat of a bass became a small explosion in the fireworks that was the entire piece. All wild, all rapid and all simply too enthralling in my mind. It was only in those moments of complete absorption that I really _was_ grateful to Carlisle for making me what I am."

I watched his eyes recall that ancient sadness, his expression perfectly matching mine. I felt on the verge of tears just imagining him live through all this. It made me feel even smaller and more insignificant than I could imagine. I knew it was selfish to think about myself in comparison to him, but I couldn't stop comparing and despairing over the measure I came up with. I watched as his eyes focused back on me and took in my expression. He flustered over me, his palms gently stroking my face. "Bella, Bella… don't be upset, please, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, smiling sadly. "Nothing. Please go on." He deliberated for a moment and took both of my hands in one of his, planting light kisses on my fingers. It seemed he was choosing what to say, obviously confused by my expression.

"I was in New York when Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue premiered." He finally said.

I frowned. Sure, I knew Gershwin. I'd heard the piece, and it was supposed to be jazz, but it didn't sound too jazzy to me.

"Is that even jazz?" I wondered out loud.

"Technically, yes. It's not your typical ragtime jazz, though. You won't see Velma Kelly and Roxie Hart dancing to Gershwin. It was written for a piano solo and a jazz band." His eyes narrowed. "I remember I once tried to get Emmett to learn the clarinet so I could play the whole piece at least halfway as it's supposed to sound. That didn't work out too well." He made a disgusted face. "Ugh. The sounds he made…"

I stared at him for a moment and then burst into hysterics. He seemed flabbergasted, seeming not to know whether to laugh along with me or try to explain the horror of Emmett's playing. He settled for giving me a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised, his perfect mouth in a slight frown. His face sent me into further hysterics and I was soon gasping for breath. "Oh Edward…" I gasped through laughter, "I thought you'd know better!" – gasp, more laughter – "I wouldn't expect Emmett's range in music to go further than some armpit symphonies!"

He rolled his eyes. "I learned that the hard way." He snickered.

I pulled myself up in his arms and kissed his jaw. "My brilliant vampire." I teased.

"Well, you can't blame a man for trying. Or a vampire, for that matter." He said condescendingly.

"Oh well…" I amended. "Tell me how it was to hear it live."

I watched him sigh and his whole face melted into a new expression, much alike to some ecstasy. I felt like I was watching a tape rewind as he called up the event from his memory and searched for the right words to describe it.

EPOV

_remembering the winter of 1924, New York_

It was a warm evening in February, the wind soft and uncharacteristically mild for Newport, RI, which is where we had been living at the time. Carlisle had moved us there after he brought Esme over to us, back in Wisconsin. I was still uncertain whether I agreed with his choice or not, but it was impossible to dislike Esme. She brought much comfort into our, well, rather dysfunctional vampire household. Unlike me, she at least seemed to have no reserves in accepting the choice Carlisle made for her. Comforted by the love she felt for Carlisle, she dealt with the monstrous thirst surprisingly well, lacking the scruples I felt for what I was. Carlisle claimed it offered steadfast evidence that us vampires – I recoiled at the thought of what it was I'd become – did not, indeed, lose our souls in the transformation, that the same rules of right or wrong still applied to us as they did to humans. Which lead to the colossal concern our chosen lifestyle presented. The assumption that we could earn our place in Heaven, notwithstanding of what we were, if only we kept to the 'Thou shalt not kill' commandment seemed a rather enormous fallacy. Our very nature condemned us, how could there be redemption for one of us?

I walked over the ocean turf, lazily breaking the crashing waves with my bare feet. I was feeling thirsty, the pain of it throbbing steadily in my throat, coursing evenly down to my entrails. It was the kind of pain I could get used to, if I wanted, but the question that kept posing itself was whether I wanted to get used to it. I lifted my gaze to a string of lights over the bay that I knew were windows of distant houses on the opposite shore. I imagined the humans existing there, unaware of the existence of such horrors as I was. Creatures that I was once one of, now mere masses of flesh, bone, sinew and blood. How easy it would be to just let go, to swim like a fiend from the pits of Hell and burst into their peaceful lives, to satiate my demonic thirst. Like Blake's tiger…burning bright, I would destroy what was good and innocent. I shook my head at myself. I couldn't allow myself such wild imaginings. They only made the pain worse. I could feel the monster stirring within me, a temptation of biblical proportions. The thirst seemed to call to me, coerce me into relenting, regardless of what my own human conscience told me, of what Carlisle's endless compassion showed me.

I sighed wearily, drawing in a ragged breath of fresh ocean air, untainted by the enticing smell of blood.

A car whirred past me on the nearby road and I caught a part of someone's boisterous speech. "Tonight, my friend, you'll see Gershwin at his best." and then "Don't ask me, that's what the poster said", followed by wild female laughter. I frowned, listening to the thoughts of the passengers in search of further explanation.

_Oh boy, I wish he'd slow down. _One of the passengers fretted.

I focused on the man who I'd heard speaking earlier. _Whiteman's boys playing at the Aeolian. That ought to be good. _The man's thoughts swirled in a slightly intoxicated chaos, but the message was clear enough. There was some new music playing up in New York tonight. I wondered why I didn't know about it, and then cursed the fact Newport was a blasted hole in the middle of nowhere where news arrived about a month after they'd actually been _news_.

I deliberated for a while. I was thirsty and it still presented quite a challenge to be in close proximity to humans for any longer period of time. The idea of being there when some new piece of music was premiered… well, it made this wretched existence worth living. I looked around, quite needlessly, to make sure no one was around. I could smell no one, hear no one nor _hear_ anyone. Relying on sight was a relic of my former human life that I retained, a habit, rather than necessity.

Certain no one could see me, I darted at preternatural speed towards the mainland of the peninsula. The forests there teemed with small wildlife. I hoped to satiate my thirst on rabbits and small prey enough to be capable of withstanding several hours in a hall filled with Temptation.

I ran, feeling the thrill of speed, my eyes closed, my body given over to its instincts. I opened my eyes when I felt the hard forest floor beneath my feet, extending my senses in search of prey. To the south, where I'd come from, small creatures shuffled in the undergrowth. I heard their soft paws raking at the earth, unaware of the presence of a predator in their midst. The leaves shifted soundlessly with my passage, the only evidence of my existence amidst the grey tree trunks and sharp ferns. To the north, a small herd of deer ran through the forest. Their restlessness told me they sensed my presence. I shifted carefully, soundlessly, so I was downwind from them, and leaned forward, tracing their scent. I let my senses sharpen, sleek and deadly as a knife-point. The thirst took over. The scent of the prey enveloped me, coursing down from my nose, through my brain, tingling at the tips of my fingers and toes. My body strained, in pain from denied thirst, and I was flying, entirely lost in the death I was about to deliver. I was left behind, the monster raging between the trees with one single aim – blood. Living blood pulsing enticingly in the warm, frightened creatures that drew me like a magnet.

Before either of the animals knew the true fear of the predator, I was upon them. There were three of them and I fed like a glutton, devouring the fragile flesh to get to the steaming liquid beneath it.

Satiated, I shook away the guilt of murder. I was not a violent boy in my human years. A true city boy, I never went hunting, never even tortured stray cats or dogs as many boys my age did. It still bothered me to kill with my own bare hands. It was something I would eventually get used to, but so far, my guilt extended to every single murder I committed, burdening me even as the monster rejoiced.

I ran back to our mansion at the outskirts of Newport, a modest white dwelling on the sea shore. I heard Carlisle and Esme inside the house as I ran up the staircase to my room. Their thoughts were relaxed so I ignored them and chose to hurry.

I changed in a rush, choosing the first outfit that came to my hands, and ran down again, announcing my intentions. "I'm going to New York for the evening. Going to take the car."

Carlisle appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me apprehensively.

_Are you sure?_ He raised his eyebrows at me.

"I've fed." I nodded and walked past him.

_Edward._

I ignored him, looking sternly ahead of me.

_Edward. _His thought rang with determination. He was not my father, and we were equals in everything. But he was still the older one, the one whose experience was not measured in mere years like mine was, but in centuries of this bleak existence. It stopped me in my tracks. I sighed and turned to look him in the eye.

"Trust me." I pleaded.

He took a step forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I do. If you believe you can restrain yourself, I do believe you."

I smiled. "I do. I'm sure."

He held my gaze for a long moment. "Carlisle… I think I might miss the whole concert if I don't get going."

His mouth teetered, several expressions flitting over his face. I regarded him warily, and he suddenly burst out laughing. _Go, go… I never thought I'd have a son your age, sometimes I forget how young you are._

I scowled at him and he laughed even harder. I noticed Esme hover uncertainly in the doorway, curious about what got him roaring with laughter. She looked at me inquisitively and I smiled. "He's coming to terms with the realization that he's old."

With that, I turned and went for the door.

Carlisle's Ford stood solemnly in the garage, its black paintjob reflecting dimly in what light penetrated through the smoky glass of the double door. I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. I maneuvered out of the yard and was soon speeding off towards New York.

--

The foyer of the Aeolian Hall flickered with a myriad of bright lights when I entered. The scent hit me like a brick wall, almost made me stagger backwards with the force of the pain that inflamed my throat. I almost lost myself, a bloodied frenzy threatening to take over. It coursed down to the pit of my stomach and I had to steady myself on the wall before I doubled over with the sensation.

A low roar formed in the back of my throat and I released it, gently, relieving the tension of my body. I held my breath for a moment, clearing my head before I focused on the thoughts of the humans around me.

_Gee, I wonder what this will be…Joe said it was some new thing. I wonder if he realizes I'm not really into this…_

_Did I lock the car? Oh gosh, what if I didn't…?_

_Sweet mother of Lord, will you just look at that kid… what I wouldn't give to get some of that… _

I turned sharply in the direction of the last thought. A striking blond woman stared in my direction, smoking a roll-up. I shuddered, trying to block out the thoughts that emanated from her. She seemed unphased, if not flattered, by my sudden attention. I stood there, frozen with mixed emotions, until she made up her mind to approach me. I froze, but recovered soon enough to make a quick dash for the nearest crowd.

It proved to be another colossal mistake, as the scent rose and delved its way into my brain. I cut off my breathing, deciding it was the safest thing to do both for me and them.

Just as I was on the verge of relinquishing and making a dash for the exit, the band made their way slowly on stage. I retreated into the back of the room, desperate to escape the scent of several dozens of humans around me. The thick cigarette smoke helped a little, but any attempt at breathing brought the familiar pain.

The hum of thoughts was a persistent murmur at the back of my mind. I pushed it away as best I could. It seemed people were getting annoyed with tonight's program. I laughed as I caught the name of the concert in someone's thoughts – _An Experiment in Modern Music_. Too modern for this audience, I'd wager.

It was clear the program had started quite a while ago, and I cursed myself internally for missing most of the performances.

I closed my eyes as the announcer stepped on stage, ready to receive the new sensations music always brought me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present you… George Gershwin and Paul Whiteman! The Rhapsody in Blue!"

As the last echo of his words reverberated through the hall, a soft note of a clarinet weaved itself into the smoke-laden air. It was soft and seductive at the same time, reminiscent of candlelight and purple smoke over land. I stood, stunned by the clear tone that traveled through me. It was everything I'd ever thought of the century I lived in. The lazy glare of electric lights. The thick industrial smoke of my Chicago. The heaviness of the stale gin scent that clung to the streets. The melody transformed itself into a soft tinkling of piano keys, erratic and disharmonious. I felt my fingers twitch, aching to make those sounds myself, committing the melody to memory. I was dying to get to a piano and make music. It suddenly occurred to me that the man was a genius. There it was, the century captured in the seductive wail of the clarinet. I had to meet him, I had to shake his hand. I began to move behind the crowd, all the while drowning in the waves of lights and harmony like I was being tossed around by monstrous ocean waves. I found myself by the backstage door, hesitant to enter. It would be a test appearing human in direct conduct with a human being, but it was worth the risk. I waited patiently for the band to finish the final notes and slipped inside as the sound of applause pitched in the acoustics of the hall.

A man came down the hall, shaking hands with everyone he encountered. Congratulations rained from all sides, and I suddenly felt uncertain of what in the world I was doing. I skidded towards the exit, when the man's gaze concentrated on me. He walked over to me, drawn by me as any human would be. His expression was amiable as he approached, yet I saw him recoil reflexively as he neared me. Survival instincts on red alert, I thought grimly. The man forced a smile back on his face and reached over to firmly shake my hand.

"How did you like it, son?" He looked at me expectantly.

I found myself at a loss for words, not a common thing to happen.

"It was… magical, sir. It felt as if you've captured our age in that clarinet." I smiled uncertainly.

"Glad to hear that, son. Glad to hear that." He patted my shoulder and barked out a laugh. "Gee, boy, you're freezing. Get something to drink while you still can, eh? I hear the prohibition's about to kick in."

"Yes, indeed, sir."

"Do you play, …?" He let his voice drift off inquisitively.

"Edward Mas… Cullen, sir."

"George Gershwin, how d'you do. Do you play, Mr Cullen?"

"Yes, sir, I do. The piano."

Gershwin whistled appreciatively. "You any good?" He asked, with half a smile.

I smirked, sensing the challenge. "As a matter of fact, I am."

His smile spread wider over his face as something occurred to him. I froze, stunned. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He was thinking about inviting me to perform with him up on the stage. The piece still had a second part, a valuable fact I hadn't realized up until now.

I hastened to make an excuse before he formulated his question.

"I'm afraid I have to leave, Mr Gershwin." I tried to throw a charming smile at him, and it seemed to work.

"Where's the fire, boy?" Gershwin asked lazily. "You do know the piece isn't over, do you?"

"I do, sir. But my father is waiting for me. He must drive me home, and he's working early tomorrow." I made a measured step towards the exit to emphasize my point.

"Wait a moment, boy. I'd like you to have something." I stared at him inquisitively as he decided to give me the score of his entire piece. I blinked, surprised and moved at the same time. He called over one of the stage hands and asked to have one of the scores brought down to him. The man disappeared and was back within 20 seconds carrying the score.

"Here you go, boy. There's parts missing, it's not jazz if you don't improvise it. Find me someday, we'll see if you're as good as you say." He patted me once again on the shoulder and marched off barking boisterous comments to people around me.

I turned and darted for the exit, too stunned and elated to think.

I found the car waiting, dark and cold, where I'd left it, and I slid into the seat. I sat in the dark replaying the melody continuously in my mind. It was indescribable. I shook myself all over, all thoughts of thirst forgotten, and started the car.

I didn't even remember how I'd gotten back home, when Carlisle found me at my piano staring blankly at the keys.

_What happened? _He was concerned.

"I just heard the twentieth century." I looked up at him, my gaze still unfocused.

He simply looked at me, waiting for further explanation. I forced my gaze to train on him and struggled to explain. "I went to a concert. An Experiment in Modern Music, it was called. They played a piece called The Rhapsody in Blue. You wouldn't believe it. _I_ wouldn't believe it if I hadn't heard it myself. The man, Gershwin, he wrote the twentieth century, right there in that score."

I picked up the score for emphasis and he took it from me. I could hear him reading the notation in his mind and shaping the melody it signified. After a long moment, he looked up at me. _You are right._

I smiled as I sat back on my piano stool. "I know I am. I want to try it, let me feel the age under my fingers. Care to learn the clarinet?"

He laughed. "I think I'll leave you to your music, son."

He was still laughing as he left the room and I dove into the rolling mists of The Rhapsody.

BPOV

_back to 2005_

I was quiet as Edward finished his account, completely awed and feeling very idiotic. What was I supposed to say to that? He met Gershwin, for heaven's sake. He met Gershwin on the night the man premiered his most famous piece. Lucky for me, Edward was still staring off into empty space. I gathered my wits. "Wow." I breathed.

He looked at me then, and laughed at my expression. I tried to determine what my face showed but I couldn't be certain. "_Wow_ doesn't even begin to cover it."

I laughed shakily. "I'll never get used to you, you know."

His expression was puzzled for a moment. "Explain that, please."

"Edward, you never cease to amaze me. There I go, thinking you can't possibly be more amazing and then I realize that there's always more behind what I already know."

He rolled his eyes. "Bella, you're delusional. I don't understand how a story about Gershwin's genius ended up with you being amazed by _me_."

"Well, perhaps because Gershwin's been dead for quite a while, you know, and you're still around to tell the story."

He frowned, and I sensed another immortality argument threatening to rise. He knew what I wanted and he was very determined not to let me have it.

"Fine, fine. I know what you're thinking. We won't get into that. An impasse, right?"

He looked at me suspiciously. "Right."

"Great then! What's next on the program?" I asked pleasantly.

"The program?" He raised his eyebrow.

"Yeah. You did the twenties. Now move along to the thirties. I'm enjoying my little history lesson here." I grinned at him and he seemed stunned for a second.

"You're unbelievable", he said as he bent to kiss the tip of my nose. "Alright then. The thirties."

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_Please, review. Pretty please, I mean it. Thanks. _


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